


How Special You Are

by FelicisQuill2



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Doctor Clarke, Dystopia, Episode: s04e07 Gimme Shelter, Episode: s04e08 God Complex, Everyone ships Bellarke, F/M, Fluff, Griffin Women Heart-to-Hearts, Human Trials, Hurt Bellamy, Love, Medical trials, Mild Amnesia, Nightblood - Freeform, Reunions, Season/Series 04, Smut, Speculation, Worried Clarke, becca's island, black rain, radiation exposure, science island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-07 08:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicisQuill2/pseuds/FelicisQuill2
Summary: “No. Stay,” his voice is strong and domineering, a touch of the dropship arrogance embedded in it somehow. “And tell me – because I must have missed something . . . important?”She’s searching his face, trying to determine if he’s screwing with her. She takes in the constellation of freckles across his straight nose. His eyes look earnest enough. But he’s her best friend, what else would they look like?“You don’t want this,” the words come out broken, as she tries to shift away again.His fingers dig deeper into her sides as he brings her nearer still. She gasps involuntarily when she feels him hardening against her thigh.“I wouldn’t say that, Princess,” he teases in a husky voice she's never heard. “I’m just . . . confused.”----As the black rain hits Arkadia, Abby struggles to find a viable solution to their new pressing problem: a lack of hydrazine. Radiation trials might be a way to ensure their one shot at making nightblood in space goes smoothly. But who will they use as a test subject? And when Bellamy goes rogue in search of Octavia, Clarke refuses to repeat her old mistakes, doing whatever it takes to return to him.





	1. Veni

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosymamacita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosymamacita/gifts).



> I'm impatient for the next episode and impatient for Bellarke. So the obvious solution is fan fiction, right? Hope you all like it! As always, comments are life, and I love getting them! If you have an idea for a future story, do send it my way. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Dedicated to @rosymamacita because she rallies the fandom and soothes all its fears on a daily basis with her insightful blog analysis, thoughtful predictions, fun fan fics and steadfast devotion to Bellarke becoming canon! (Plus, she’s captain of #TeamFuckingKissAlready, and that’s pretty awesome ☺). I added in the line about cryogenics for her because she was talking about it as a preservation technique to help Sky Crew survive the apocalypse even before Jackson did on the show!

_“I used to rule the world_

_Seas would rise when I gave the word._

_Now in the morning I sleep alone_

_Sweep the streets I used to own._

_I used to roll the dice_

_Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes._

_Listened as the crowd would sing,_

_"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"_

_One minute I held the key,_

_Next the walls were closed on me._

_And I discovered that my castles stand_

_Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand._

_I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing_

_Roman cavalry choirs are singing_

_Be my mirror, my sword and shield_

_My missionaries in a foreign field._

_For some reason I can't explain,_

_Once you'd gone there was never_

_Never an honest word_

_And that was when I ruled the world._

_It was a wicked and wild wind_

_Blew down the doors to let me in_

_Shattered windows and the sound of drums,_

_People couldn't believe what I'd become._

_Revolutionaries wait_

_For my head on a silver plate._

_Just a puppet on a lonely string,_

_Oh who would ever want to be king?”_

_~Coldplay, “Viva La Vida”_

 

“The black rain’s here. It burns on contact. It kills. We need a solution.” Kane’s constricted voice sends a cold chill up Abby’s spine as she grasps the radio tightly in her hand. In her mind’s eye, she sees the worry lines snaking their way around his mouth and eyes, his head bent low, his palm resting against his forehead as he squints his eyes shut.

 

“What do you mean? Is everyone all right? Were there losses?” Abby gasps.

 

“Two. James Afton and Gabrielle Camden. They slipped in the mud during the frenzy to get inside. They were . . . they were trampled,” he says quietly. “People are losing their grip on reality. It’s starting, Abby...”

 

“Oh my God...”

 

“Listen, I really need you to focus on finding a way through this, for all our sakes, ok?”

 

“Ok...ok,” she says, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’m going to go check on Raven right now and see what kind of progress she’s making with the rocket.”

 

“Good, hurry,” Kane replies. An urgency lies in his tone that reminds her of The Culling. It makes her feel numb.

 

“I’m going right now. Stay safe, Marcus. May we meet again.”

 

“Wait, Abby. One more thing,” he chokes out.

 

“What it is?” she asks, already setting the radio down on the desk and pushing her chair in against it.

 

“I love you.”

 

It’s like a dart hits her squarely in the chest, and she squeezes her own eyes shut as a sob wells up in her throat.

 

“I love you, too.”

********

 

Thick desperation hangs in the air of Becca’s lab. Abby senses it immediately as her eyes lock on the gleaming white rocket looming ahead of her. She’s allowed Raven to run two additional days of trials to see if she could discover a safe answer to their latest crisis: being down a barrel of hydrazine.

 

“It’s not enough!” Raven’s scream is loud enough to be heard from inside the rocket. Abby glances over to Murphy, whose mouth is set in a grim line. He’s racing the electronic car around the slick floor in controlled figure eights. Over and over its wheels spin and whine as they cut sharp turns, leaving skid marks as they go.

 

“We NEED more hydrazine! We can’t even crash-land in the godforsaken ocean without the tenth barrel!” Raven’s voice is muffled, but the message is clear.

 

The rocket door shoves open with a jolt, and Raven makes her way down the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing. Murphy quickly moves forward, offering her his arm, but she lightly bats it away, shaking her head as she looks into his face. Tears tip from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks, leaving glistening rivers in their wake.

 

She stomps over to one of the lab tables, sweeping her hand across the glass chemistry vials there. They fall to the floor with a satisfying smash. A shard flies up and lodges itself into the padded edge of her finger, drawing blood.

 

“Dammit!” she cries out, catching her head in her hands, elbows on the table.

 

Abby raises her eyebrows at the display, and seems to Murphy lost in thought for a moment as she watches a few drops of blood drip across Raven’s hand.

 

But then she jumps forward, dropping a hand to Raven’s shoulder.

 

“Raven, honey. You’re doing everything you can. But we need to make sure the nightblood solution will work before we waste the last of the hydrazine on a space trip, right?”

 

Raven looks up at her, eyes narrowing.

 

“What are you talking about? This whole trip is built on the premise that the nightblood will save us from the radiation,” Murphy cuts in before she can speak.

 

Abby nods slowly, pressing her lips together.

 

“Right,” she says as if it pains her. “That’s what we’re hoping.”

 

She straightens up and smiles at them both.

 

“Anyway, go get some rest, Raven. You’ve been up almost 24 hours straight. We’ll get back to work after you’ve slept.”

 

Raven huffs, rolls her eyes, but follows the request, moving slowly toward the hallway that connects to the bedrooms.

 

“Let me help you,” Murphy interjects, stepping out in front of her. “Your leg is stiff from sitting so long.”

 

She holds out her arm in front of her, shaking her hand. His face drops the smallest fraction, but then she smiles a little at him.

 

“I’m ok. You didn’t fatally wound me, Murphy. I’ll be fine.”

 

“As you wish,” he holds up his hands in defeat as she walks away.

 

Abby reaches out and slides her hand against his cheekbone for a moment before letting it fall away. He appears startled at the touch but doesn’t move away.

 

“Thank you for helping her, John. She’ll come around . . . _eventually_ ,” she gives him a half-smile.

 

“Yeah, I won’t hold my breath,” Murphy says curtly before turning toward Becca’s office.

 

********

Abby rolls the tips of her nails noisily across the black matte lab tables to capture Clarke and Jackson’s attention.

 

“What is it?” Jackson asks, spinning around in his chair from his perch in front of a computer. “Did Raven land in the water safely?”

 

“No,” she says regretfully, glancing down at the table.

 

Clarke sighs deeply, shoulders slumping.

 

“I have some news though,” Abby adds. “Kane radioed. Black rain hit Arkadia this morning...”

 

Clarke’s on her feet immediately.

 

“Is everyone ok?” she demands urgently. “Are my friends ok?”

 

Abby glances at her daughter, knowing the crease between her eyebrows mirrors the one on her own face.

 

“Yes,” she answers quietly. “Your friends are ok. But we lost two of our people. They were trampled in the chaos to get inside.”

 

Jackson closes his eyes, falling limply into the seatback of his chair.

 

“This is bringing out the worst in us,” he mutters.

 

“You could argue that,” Abby returns. “But this is all the more reason we have to make sure the nightblood is going to be a viable solution. If we don’t bring home something soon, I’m afraid a revolt might kill us all before the radiation does.”

 

Clarke looks at her wide-eyed.

 

“Our own people aren’t going to kill us, mom,” she says forcefully.

 

“I believe most people will pick the right choice when they’re given one. But this is different, Clarke. This is certain death, unstoppable, brutal death,” Abby returns, shaking her head. “We are their leaders, and if they lose hope that we can solve this . . . I just don’t know. We’ve been failing them since The Culling.”

 

Clarke winces at the memory. A flash of hot pink light erupts in her memory, and she remembers standing beside Bellamy’s steady presence, looking up together at the dark night sky, praying those lights would be enough to save lives.

 

_Can you wish on this type of shooting star?_

_I wouldn’t even know what to wish for._

_She knows what she’d wish for now. But they’re separated once more, and it’s pointless. She stopped him from saying whatever it was he wanted to say by the river. Her name had caught in his throat like a broken promise. But she couldn’t look up into his brown eyes. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her, to gain comfort from the safety of his arms, but she couldn’t ask for that, either. Couldn’t admit this might be their end. So she refused to accept another goodbye. Not like that, not from him. She didn’t even hug him . . . and now the regret of her decision slices into her chest._

 

“You know Sergeant Miller shock-lashed Marcus to bring mob justice to Ilian. It’s a miracle the boy made it out of our camp alive,” Abby is saying back in reality. “Octavia was ready to put a bullet into his brain. This is just the beginning, Clarke. The end will come very painfully if it comes this way.”

 

“So what do we do?” Jackson asks. “Without the extra hydrazine, what do we do?”

 

“There may be a solution,” Abby says slowly. “But to find it, I have to do something that I never thought I’d have to do,” she glances at them both in turn.

 

“What do you mean?” Jackson questions warily.

 

Abby grimaces.

 

“I need to know for sure what moderate radiation will do to a body protected by Luna’s nightblood in a controlled situation. I need to see if there are any gaps in its protection when it’s used on one of us, so I can make the best formula possible in space.”

 

Clarke and Jackson stare at her, horrified.

 

“I _need_ to make it right the _first time_ ,” she insists. “We don’t have the hydrazine to try twice. This is it. This is our opportunity. But . . . ”

 

“What?” Clarke demands.

 

“If I take a life to find a cure, does that make me a murderer?” she questions, voice so small it can barely be heard by them standing three feet from her.

 

“Mom . . . exposing someone to radiation . . . you can’t . . . it’s cruel,” Clarke sputters.

 

“I know it is, baby. I know,” she’s almost crying. “Do either of you have another idea?”

 

Jackson’s eyes flash over the monitor before him. It’s showing a map of North America, a simulation of what parts of the continent will be hit first by the radiation wave as the nuclear power plants melt down. His fingertips trace delicately from west to east, across what they understand from Jaha’s trek to be vast stretches of windswept, scorching, tan desert.

 

“That’s it,” he whispers, eyes alight. “There’s a way around this. No one has to die.”

 

“I’m all ears,” Abby says, folding her arms across her chest.

 

“We can use Murphy. His body’s already weathered all that radiation in the desert when left with Jaha to find the City of Light. It was before we even knew about the power plants, but the radiation was still in play – the plants were already melting down.”

 

Clarke feels a shiver start up her spine and move down both arms and into her legs.

 

“He’s the strongest. His body will fight back, especially with Luna’s nightblood in him,” Jackson finishes triumphantly.

 

Just then the squeak of a boot against the floor turns their attention to the doorframe, where a glimpse of Emori’s head wrap and dark hair leave no doubt they’ve been overheard.

 

She begins sprinting toward the section of the lab reserved as office and kitchen space yelling “John! John!” at the top of her lungs.

 

Clarke chases her through the maze of winding hallways, with Abby and Jackson close behind.

 

“Emori!” Clarke yells at the girl’s retreating back. “Emori, please!”

 

At last, Clarke hurls herself into the bright kitchen, the florescent lights dazzling her eyes as they ricochet off the silver and red appliances. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust after the darkness of the hallways. Emori is breathing heavily in Murphy’s arms but manages to gasp out the words to him nonetheless.

 

“They want. You. To go into. The radiation chamber,” she huffs. “They want to test Luna’s blood on you in radiation conditions. We have to go now. Please, John. We have to go!” she tugs hard on the front of his shirt.

 

Clarke’s slumped against the side of the refrigerator regaining her breath as Abby and Jackson tumble into the room.

 

Murphy’s looking disbelievingly at Clarke, but she won’t fully meet his eyes. She sees his face harden, and the corners of her own mouth sag downward as she tilts her head to the side, blinking rapidly. It confirms everything for him in an instant.

 

“Murphy, we don’t have to do this. We can find another way,” she says carefully, taking a step toward the couple.

 

Emori swings around toward her, face full of hate, gun pointed squarely at Clarke’s chest.

 

“Don’t. Come. Any. Closer. Bitch,” she hisses nastily.

 

“Woah, woah! Hold on! Everyone just take a moment, and let’s calm down,” Jackson holds both of his hands up and steps into the room very carefully.

 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Murphy demands of Abby.

 

“It’s an idea,” she returns, holding his gaze. “Clarke’s right - we don’t have to do this. We _can_ find another way.”

 

“This is sick. Even for you, Princess,” he spits at Clarke.

 

“John . . .” Abby calls entreatingly. “It wasn’t her idea.”

 

“Mom, this is crazy!” Clarke cries out. “Let me do it! I volunteer! I was in the woods for months after Mount Weather. I traveled to different places. I’m sure I was exposed to new levels of radiation, too,” she stumbles getting the words out in her rush.

 

Abby holds up her arm and shakes her head, effectively silencing Clarke.

 

“John,” she says steadily. “I want you to fully understand what we’ve been talking about here. I want to be as fair as possible. I will leave it to you to decide if you want to help us, ok?”

 

Emori bares a flash of her teeth, keeping herself wrapped around Murphy like a human shield. The expansive island counter serves as a barrier between the two groups.

 

“You can explain,” Emori forces the words out between gritted teeth, “from over there.”

 

“Ok, that’s fine,” Abby nods amicably. “This is the situation. Black rain hit Arkadia this morning. If our people are exposed to it for any length of time over a few seconds, or if it hits more than the smallest patch of their skin, they die. You know we don’t even have enough hydrazine now to ensure a completely safe water landing for the rocket. So when Raven figures out how to work with what we have, I need to be 100 percent certain I’m making the most effective nightblood in space. That means I need to know what radiation will do to a body already protected by Luna’s nightblood in a controlled situation. I need to see if there are any gaps in its protection, so I can make the best formula possible in space to protect us all. It’s a very delicate bit of chemistry, John. And it needs to be done right _the first time_. We only have one shot.”

 

“Here’s the other thing,” Jackson adds in, “From Raven’s mapping projections, the radiation is strongest out west of here, in the desert, closer to the nearest nuclear reactor. You’ve been exposed to the elements out there with Jaha, and you’re still well. You’ve got a strong immune system. I bet your radiation tolerance is higher than ours. We could run tests to verify my hunch, but that will take even more time, another few days to have the results.”

 

Clarke can see the wheels spinning in Murphy’s mind but remains silent, holding her breath, fingertips brushing against the gun against her hip. She wraps her hand around it and holds it inconspicuously at her side.

 

Abby’s voice causes Emori’s to swivel her gun back toward the doctor after she’d pointed it at Jackson moments before.

 

“John, you know I don’t want to see you harmed,” Abby says calmly, continuing to hold up her palms in supplication. “I took an oath to save lives, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe if you agree to this. But we’ve got to make sure, and to do that, you’ve got to trust me.”

 

“Don’t believe their lies, John! They can’t guarantee anything!” Emori whispers fiercely against his neck.

 

“Trust you . . . right . . . ” Murphy bites back sarcastically, pulling Emori closer to him. “You’re unbelievable, Abby! It’s like the Ark’s Council all over again! We’re all just guinea pigs to you! As long as the precious Princess is safe, who gives a damn if any of us are killed, right?”

 

“Of course Abby cares if—” Jackson tries but Murphy’s louder and more dangerous looking.

 

“It’s just like when you sent me, Bellamy, and Finn into the woods to find her, isn’t it Abby?” he sneers. “You didn’t care about the 48 kids locked up in Mount Weather getting their blood drained then either. You only cared about saving her,” he points accusatorily at Clarke.

 

“Murphy!” Clarke tries, welling up in her eyes. She remembers what Bellamy told her about that mission-turned-nightmare later. She knows how much the rescue attempt cost Arkadia, cost Finn. It leaves her insides cold as her legs shake against the side of the refrigerator. This was all her fault. _All her fault._

“We’ve got to be sure!” Abby cries out somewhere to her left. “We can’t waste Luna’s blood and the hydrazine on a shot that won’t work! We need to know the nightblood will protect us from the radiation before we go to space to make it. The black rain’s already here, John! Our people are already being exposed. Please help us! We need you!”

 

She says the words to his retreating back as he pulls Emori out the door and back toward the rocket launch area. The medical trio follow the couple back to the vast room of flickering screens, lab tables, and vials upon vials of colorful liquids along the walls.

 

Murphy’s back is completely tense and rigid as he stares up at the rocket. Emori stands beside him but keeps her eyes trained on Abby, Jackson and Clarke as they approach. All is silent for several long moments, but when he swings around, his face is contorted with rage, and he directs it all toward Clarke.

 

“Maybe you’re forgetting that the last time you were saving everyone else, I was saving _YOU!”_ he roars. “You know how you felt about Lexa? How Raven felt about Finn? How Bellamy feels about Octavia? That’s how I feel about her!” he gestures toward Emori. “We’re all _human_ here, Clarke! Whether you see it or not! I deserve to live, too, whether or not I make your goddamned list!”

 

“I’m not forgetting!” Clarke falls to her knees, sobbing openly. “I don’t want you to have to do this! God, I don’t!”

 

A hush falls over the cavernous space as Murphy grimaces down at Clarke as if the sight of her physically disgusts him.

 

They all turn when Raven’s heavy footfalls echo across the floor, Luna following closely behind her.

 

“I heard my name . . . ” Raven says sarcastically. “Actually, I heard everything. You all were screaming _pretty_ loudly.”

 

Luna walks over to Murphy, pushing her red-blonde hair over her shoulder and placing a kind hand along his forearm.

 

“John,” she says soothingly. “You know it is the only way. Let go and flow with the sea’s current. Trust that it will be all right. You will be all right. You have to trust in your people. It’s time now.”

 

He looks at her like she’s insane, too, but then he turns to face Raven. He looks down at her brace. She’s watching him with a strange mixture of pity settling into her features as the glint of a challenge glows in her amber eyes.

 

“You can do this,” she says to him steadily. “You can contribute more than you take.”

 

And he nods his head once, the decision made.


	2. Vidi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby starts the experiments on Murphy. Then news comes in that Bellamy is MIA from his attempts to save Octavia from the black rain.

 

_“Now tell me would you really ride for me?_

_Baby, tell me would you die for me?_

_Would you spend your whole life with me?_

_Would you be there to always hold me down?_

_Tell me, would you really cry for me?_

_Baby, don’t lie to me._

_If I didn't have anything,_

_I wanna know would you stick around?_

_If I got locked away,_

_And we lost it all today_

_Tell me, honestly, would you still love me the same?_

_If I showed you my flaws_

_If I couldn't be strong_

_Tell me, honestly, would you still love me the same?”_

_~R. City & Adam Levine, “Locked Away”_

 

 

“I don’t know if I can,” Abby turns to her daughter for reassurance. She’s back at her lab desk, poring over saved computer files detailing how the radiation incubator works.

 

“If it works, we survive. As simple as that. Murphy will make it. He’s tougher than all of us,” Clarke says reassuringly as Murphy walks into the room.

 

“Here I am . . . the lamb come for slaughter,” he holds out his arms wide.

 

Clarke walks over to him slowly but confidently. “We won’t let anything happen to you, Murphy. I promise. You had my back in the City of Light, and I have yours now.”

 

She holds his gaze for a beat before he lets out a low hiss of air, throws his eyes to his left where Emori stands waiting – face in a scowl and arms crossed over her chest - then looks back at Clarke appraisingly.

 

“Just another day on the ground, right?”

 

She chuckles softly, and he offers her the faint whisper of a smile.

 

********

Abby rolls up Murphy’s green shirtsleeve and prepares the inside of his elbow for the needle.

 

“This will just be a pinprick, and then we’re going to feed the nightblood into your system, just like we did we Clarke, all right?” she says soothingly. He grips the edge of the armrest tightly and takes a deep breath. “If anything feels painful, or you think you’re going to pass out, tell me immediately, John. We won’t do this if it endangers your life.”

 

He nods, and a few moments later, the black blood speeds its winding way through the clear tube and into his body.

 

Emori holds his other hand, murmuring soothing words to him that flow like poetry in Trigedasleng _._

 

“Are you ok?” Clarke asks seconds later, worry lines evident around her mouth as she leans toward him.

 

“I’m fine,” he replies tersely.

 

Jackson glances at Abby for confirmation, and she nods.

 

“Ok, then. We let this run for a couple minutes, and then we’ll move you into the incubator,” she says decisively, tapping his hand a few times with her own.

 

********

 

Murphy’s in the glass tomb for exactly two hours before the screaming begins.

 

Clarke looks down on him in horror as thick, pus-filled boils erupt along his arms and stomach. His teeth gleam like white pearls against the redness of his face. His mouth remains open in what seems like an unending shriek of agony. His eyes meet hers, and she has to look away.

 

Emori clings loosely to a nearby table, sobbing uncontrollably.

 

“Get him out! Get him out!” Clarke yells at Jackson, slamming her hand against the glass. “We’re killing him!”

 

Raven appears out of nowhere at Clarke’s side. She stares down at the face of the man who disabled her for life, and her eyes begin to well up.

 

“It’s no good!” she says forcefully. “Luna’s blood isn’t pure enough to protect him. We need to make new nightblood in space, and for that – ” she stumbles over to the wall behind the incubator. “We need enough damn hydrazine!” she exclaims as she yanks the electrical wires connecting the machine from their outlets.

 

Clarke snaps the lid open immediately, wrenching it back as a nervous sweat drenches her whole body.

 

“Murphy, Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!” she murmurs it over and over like a chant.

 

“Get the spray, Jackson! Get the pills! NOW!” Abby barks.

 

She moves forward with Clarke to pull him out of his cushioned coffin, and he immediately collapses to the floor, coughing and spitting up a yellowish bile.

 

Jackson returns in moments with spray bottles and a container of pills in hand. Emori rushes over with water, and Murphy slumps into her chest as soon as she sinks to the ground next to his shaking frame.

 

“Take the pill, John!” Abby urges, pushing it into his mouth as Emori tips the glass to his lips, water running down his chin and onto his chest.

 

Clarke and Jackson begin spraying his reddening skin immediately, and a few of the blisters miraculously shrink in moments.

 

“You’re going to be ok,” Abby murmurs soothingly. “You had the nightblood in you, so these lesions are only skin deep. They’re not hitting your bloodstream. And you didn’t ingest anything that was poisoned with radiation like Luna’s clan did, so you will recover, John. I promise you. I swear.”

 

His silence worries them all as the seconds lengthen.

 

“John...” Emori says tentatively.

 

“Well if the nuclear holocaust doesn’t kill me, I don’t have to worry, because you idiots will manage just fine!” he gasps out at last.

 

Abby smile glows as she looks down at him and strokes his hair. He lets Emori help haul him to his feet.

 

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Emori says to Abby, her voice stinging like a wasp. “Luna’s blood _is not going to protect Sky Crew!_ Don’t you get it? We evolved differently – look at me,” she points to the hand she keeps shrouded in a dark glove. “You need to find the original nightblood recipe Becca used on the people who received it to travel to space and work on those mining colonies. Those are your ancestors – some of them joined together to make the original stations of the Ark, right? Along with the lucky, wealthy ones already in space when the bombs went off because they _won the lottery_ ,” she finishes with a scoff.

 

Clarke’s eyes snap up to Jackson’s. He’s been talking about a cryogenic preservation technique Becca helped develop to send prisoners to space mining colonies a hundred years ago on and off for the last few days.

 

Abby seems be thinking the same thing because she turns to him questioningly.

 

“Emori _does_ have a point,” he stumbles over the words, his eyes wide. “Becca created nightblood, so people from Earth could travel to space and be protected from radiation. So it’s _possible_ her original lab notes on manufacturing that version of nightblood are here somewhere. If we could find those notes, if they exist I mean, we wouldn’t have to reverse engineer Luna’s version of it.”

 

“On it!” Raven calls out from her position near Murphy, rushing over to the nearest computer and beginning to speak a series of commands to it.

 

********

Clarke is sitting on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at a Monet painting, _San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk,_ when Abby finds her three days later.

 

“That one’s lovely,” Abby comments, sitting down beside her daughter. “I like how the buildings are shrouded in darkness. They’re like a mystery. It’s not until the person sails across the water that they become knowable.”

 

“Mom...” Clarke whispers, still not looking at her. “All those people in Arkadia, the black rain . . . they’re hurting like Murphy, and we don’t even have enough supplies to treat them all. Even with the nightblood transfusion, his pain . . . was horrible,” she chokes out the words.

 

“Raven’s plan is going to work,” Abby attempts to add an extra boost of confidence to her voice. “She and Jackson are bound to come across those recipe notes any moment.” But the promise sounds feeble even to her own ears.

 

She reaches for one of Clarke’s hands and wraps it in both of her own.

 

“Baby, I have some news from Arkadia. Marcus thought you should know. It’s about . . . Bellamy.”

 

Clarke turns her whole body abruptly, so she’s facing her mother.

 

“What is it?” she demands, “Tell me. Is he ok?” her voice rises an octave until it nearly cracks.

 

“Marcus tried to stop him,” Abby’s eyes are wide as she presses her lips together.

 

“What did he do?” Clarke's squeezing Abby’s forearm hard enough for it to lose sensation.

 

“He left camp to look for Octavia. She never came back after she ran away with Ilian. When the black rain hit, Marcus said, he, well, he just sort of snapped. I’m sorry, baby,” she finishes weakly. “He went radio silent two days ago.”

 

“Did he at least take the rover?” Clarke gasps. “He’ll be safe in the rover.”

 

It’s not that she didn’t expect him to do something like this when they talked at the river. Octavia was – had always been – his first priority, no matter how badly she treated him. But the black rain has changed everything in her mind. It's made their whole world more unsafe and unstable than the Grounders and the Mountain Men and even ALIE had managed. There was no way to beat your enemy when your enemy was nature. The faint glimmer of hope she kept deep within herself – the hope she attached to a deep voice and strong arms and kind eyes – it was slipping away into a fathomless void.

 

“Marcus said he left in a hazmat suit . . . on foot,” Abby can’t meet Clarke’s blazing blue eyes. “A hunting party had one rover. And Thelonius took the other – he thinks Second Dawn kept another bunker location for the twelfth level people, the important ones I guess. I just know it wasn't where he took you initially, to Cadogan’s childhood home.”

 

“What?” Clarke spits out, jumping to her feet. “That’s insane! Kane let him go, but he couldn’t stop Bellamy? You all ran a ruthless government for decades in space but you even can’t keep tabs on your own people in one damn camp!” she shrieks. “There are violent members of Trikru out there still ready to kill us because we’re working with Roan! We met them on the road here – you know that!”

 

“Clarke, please!” Abby pleads, reaching out to try to grab hold of Clarke’s waist, but she swats her away angrily. “With the Ark so badly damaged, we need to seek out every viable solution we can think of. We’re lucky Thelonius is willing to –”

 

“Mom! Mom, you don’t understand!” Clarke begins, and it's like a dam breaks. The tears are running down her face so fast her vision’s becoming blurry. She lunges for a pillow on the bed and smashes it against the wall harboring the painting with a grunt of frustration. “He knew something like this would happen . . . he tried to tell me before he went back to Arkadia! He wanted to say goodbye, but I wouldn’t let him! I was so stupid! And now – now he’s probably gone.”

 

She flings herself onto the bed crying uncontrollably, sobs wracking her body while she slams a fist into the mattress repeatedly, gasping for air until Abby forcefully holds her hand down. She hasn’t seen Clarke so full of blatant rage since she was released from the Sky Box. Back then she attacked a guard, kicking and screaming about her father the whole way down the prison corridor until a tranquilizer needle brought her to her knees.

 

“Hey! Hey. We don’t know that!” she whispers fiercely to her only child. “I need you to breathe, Clarke.” She collects her daughter into her arms, rocking her slowly and stroking her bright hair until the gasps subside to more normal breaths. “He’s strong. He’s a fighter. I believe he’ll survive this.”

 

“If he doesn’t, I won’t!” Clarke says with such ferocity Abby pushes her back by her shoulders.

 

“Clarke, think about what you’re saying,” she begs, eyes full of worry.

 

“He promised me,” Clarke manages, wiping tears away from her blotchy cheeks. “He promised me when I made that list. He said if I put his name down, my name had to be there, too. But I didn’t tell him it worked the other way. And now it’s too late!”

 

As she stares into her daughter’s face, a series of pictures swim to the forefront of Abby’s mind . . . _Bellamy’s face in the Polis jail cell as Clarke cried about Lexa, her own words under ALIE’s command that the best way to get to her daughter was to “start with Bellamy Blake.” How Clarke insisted Jaha pardon him for his assassination attempt so many months ago when she’d barely known him, even then she had trusted him implicitly. How she’d asked about his whereabouts as soon as she escaped Mount Weather and returned to Arkadia, thrown herself into his arms when she realized the dropship blast and the Grounders hadn’t killed him, after all. How he’d volunteered first to trample through dangerous woods and war fields to find her when she’d been diminished to Wanheda and captured by Roan. How she and Marcus had watched the young pair leave the dirty streets of Polis and return home together, a unit, an unshakable team._

 

Clarke’s searching her mother’s eyes quizzically, but suddenly everything snaps fully into place for Abby. She realizes what she’s not even sure her daughter or Bellamy completely understand or recognize: just how totally intertwined they really are, maybe have always been. Long before she pushed open her own Ark door with Marcus and gazed out in wonder at the glistening lake and steep mountains surrounding them, her daughter’s well-being was completely wrapped up in the well-being of Bellamy Blake.

 

“You’ve never told him you love him, have you?” she says softly, catching Clarke’s face in her hands.

 

Clarke blinks a few times, chewing on her lip.

 

“No,” she finally admits, staring down at her hands, which she wrings in her lap. “Mom, what if I don’t have another chance? I’ve lost everyone – Wells, Finn, Lexa. I can’t lose him, too. It’ll kill me. I –”

 

“Love him more,” the words float out of her mouth like a warm wind, easily, as she lets her hands fall. It all makes so much sense now. She always had the feeling Bellamy loved her daughter – the way he’d tried to protect her countless times. But Clarke’s feelings, they’re newer to her. She realized they were there – but she didn’t know they ran quite so deeply. Perhaps there just hadn’t been time to pay real attention. Clarke was a controlled person, sure, but she was fierce with her love.

 

Clarke looks away, back at the painting, which hangs a little crookedly now. And then a deep breath leaves her body, and her shoulders relax a little.

 

“Love him most,” she sighs, almost afraid to be admitting it out loud. “Almost since the beginning.”

 

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it fully, baby,” Abby says rather apologetically. “I knew you cared a lot about him, but I didn’t realize—”

 

“I couldn’t put him at risk. I couldn’t show it,” Clarke cuts across her simply. There’s no more need for pretense now. “The Grounders, The Mountain Men, they would’ve used it against us. ALIE wanted to. Roan did." 

 

Abby looks away ashamed, remembering that horrible day in Polis Tower. 

 

"Honey, I'm so sorry for that. She used our memories, our thoughts and impressions against us." 

 

"I know," Clarke returns quietly, her hands absentmindedly skimming the hardened scabs under her collarbone where the knife dug into her skin. "Start with Bellamy Blake. When you said it, my heart stopped. How could I let him get tortured in front of me? After he'd protected me so many times, tried to save me, fought for me, never lied to me. ALIE might have won after all," she concludes with a shudder.  

 

Abby just nods, soaking in the words. 

 

"Some people at home know I guess," Clarke shrugs. "I couldn’t cover it completely. Roan obviously - he saw too much. And Finn and Lexa liked to harass me about it. I think Octavia and Raven are suspicious, too. But none of it ever really mattered before because I don’t think he..."

 

She stops abruptly. 

 

"You don't think he what?" Abby prods gently.

 

Clarke sighs.

 

"Loves me back, not like that anyway," she says in a rush. "I wanted to leave him alone, you know, give him space. I never wanted him to feel like he was stuck with me or something . . . ”

 

“Oh, Clarke,” Abby sighs. “For a smart girl, you don't see this one clearly. He loves you. After everything I’ve seen, I think he loves you. He wouldn't have gone to all the lengths he has to save you so many times if he didn't."

 

"He tries to save every one of his people," Clarke objects, a note of pride streaking through her voice.

 

"Honey, that may be true. But your bond is special, and you know it. That's not just love, it's a little bit of a fairytale. I can tell you it's not something to treat lightly. You don't want to throw it away.”

 

"You had that with dad," Clarke whispers into the room's semi-darkness. Two floor lamps bathe it in a warm glow now that the sun has set. 

 

"I did," Abby replies.

 

"I miss him," Clarke confesses. "Every day." 

 

"Your father would have loved Bellamy. He would have loved how much he loves you," Abby smiles at her, placing a reassuring hand on Clarke's shoulder. "Thelonius mentioned you two to me once after you all came back from the Second Dawn bunker." 

 

"He did?" Clarke looks up in surprise. 

 

"Yeah. He said Bellamy kept you centered. That you were good together, for each other." 

 

"Hmmm," Clarke murmurs, pulling at a string in the bedspread. 

 

"You and Kane are good together, too," she offers. "He's a good man." 

 

"He is," Abby smiles at her. "He's mentioned you two to me before as well."

 

"What?" Clarke really looks shocked now as she pushes her hair behind her ears and stares at her mother. "Nothing better to gossip about?" 

 

Abby chuckles. 

 

"It's true. He likes to tell me how you've helped Bellamy mature into a strong leader. He just wants the best for him and Octavia after everything we've been through," she returns. 

 

"I don't know if we're going to make it," Clarke admits.

 

"We're trying, honey. Don't lose faith in humanity's resilience and resourcefulness. It's carried us this far," Abby replies. "And try not to lose faith in love, either, all right? It's a powerful force, Clarke. You've got to make the most of the time you have. Nothing's guaranteed."  

 

A flash of fire appears in her daughter’s eyes suddenly. It looks a lot like hope. When she speaks again, her voice is much stronger and determined. 

 

"That's different advice than I got from the last person I talked to about feelings," she admits wrily.

 

"And how's that been working for you? I know I'm biased. But I think you should listen to your mother. I'm older and wiser," Abby jokes, a lilt in her voice.

 

Clarke smiles.

 

“I've got to go home, Mom. To  make sure he's OK and let him know before it's too late.”


	3. Vici

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one can resist her soul magnet forever.

_“Baby, are you down?_

_Down, down_

_Even if the sky is fallin' down, down, down._

_You ought to know_

_Tonight is the night to let it go_

_Put on a show_

_I wanna see how you lose control._

_So leave it behind 'cause we have a night to get away_

_So come on and fly with me as we make our great escape._

_So, baby, don't worry_

_You are my only_

_You won't be lonely_

_Even if the sky is falling down.”_

_~“Down,” Jay Sean_

Clarke steps into the dim hallway, tugging her robe tighter around her body. Raven and Murphy stand at the other end of it, blatantly staring at her.

 

She sighs, biting her lip and looking off in the direction of the other bedrooms before turning back to them.

 

“How much did you hear?”

 

They glance at each other.

 

“The loud parts,” Raven returns drily, not missing a beat.

 

Murphy takes a few steps forward, smirking.

 

“Here I am, just trying to get some rest after my attempted murder, but you know what?” he pauses for dramatic effect, raising his eyebrows at Clarke. “I can’t because you’re losing your mind over the Rebel King.”

 

She’s silent for a few moments, toying with the ends of her hair, running them over and over in her hand until they’re smooth and shining.

 

“I’m sorry . . . ”

 

“Don’t apologize, Clarke!” Murphy throws his hands into the air. “I mean, I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry you didn’t manage to bang in his dropship tent! Or better yet – what about all that wasted time in Arkadia. You could’ve had a more comfortable bed . . . ”

 

“Murphy . . . ” Raven shoots out a warning.

 

He glances at Raven, who shifts uncomfortably, placing more weight on her uninjured leg. Clarke can feel the heat rising into her face at a rapid rate.

 

“Fine, you tell her she’s acting like a Princess then.”

 

Raven sighs.

 

“Clarke—” she begins. “He loves you, ok?” Her hand flits to her pocket where she pulls out the metallic bird Finn made for her so long ago. She rolls it over in her fingers. “I saw him when you left after Mount Weather. Even with Gina, he was off. A wreck, honestly.”

 

“Nice bringing up the dead girlfriend,” Murphy mutters to nobody in particular.

 

“Shut up,” she hits the back of his shoulder.

 

He jerks forward slightly at the impact but keeps his feet firmly pinned to the same spot.

 

“Whatever, look, I was with him before we rescued you from ALIE in the tower. You were his top priority, not the AI taking over the world. Listen to her,” he motions back at Raven. “Come to think of it, you almost got me killed then too . . . ”

 

“Not helping!” Raven snaps.

 

Clarke gaps at them, mouth caught in a perfectly round “O” of surprise.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Murphy interrupts her reverie. “Go get him, Princess.”

 

********

The heaping metallic wreckage folding in upon itself like the wings of a dying bird is the first thing Clarke notices rising above the tree line as they cross the placid water in Emori’s boat.

 

Miller docks the boat seamlessly, wrapping her in a brief hug before dropping her bag lightly on the edge of the wooden pier.

 

“Stay safe, Clarke,” he calls up to her as she steps out, wobbling a little on her sea legs.

 

“Thank you for bringing me back, Miller!” Clarke replies. Something strange passes across his face, and she thinks he’s about to speak. But then he doesn’t. So she begins again. “May we—”

 

“Clarke. Hold up a minute.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He scratches at the back of his neck, casting his eyes across the water.

 

“I just wanted to say that, you know, Bellamy’s my best friend. And,” he sighs, laughing a little before looking back up at her, “You couldn’t do any better.”

 

Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise.

 

“I-I-I” she stammers.

“News travels fast when we’re all locked in the same place,” Miller winks at her. “May we meet again,” he delivers smoothly, nodding to her once before revving the engine. And then he’s turning boat around and speeding away until all that’s left is a foaming white wake.

 

********

She reaches the gates of Arkadia by nightfall, a portion of the western sky still streaked with violet hues, long, stringy bits of periwinkle clouds, and a small smattering of stars. The first place she looks for her friends is the bar, and she’s not disappointed. She finds Monty and Jasper playing an almost violent game of War, slapping the cards down hard against their slick table as they drink from cups of moonshine.

 

“Clarke!” Jasper calls out when he sees her appear in the doorway, motioning her over. Her hair, loose now, flaps behind her as she swiftly flies toward them.

 

“You’re back!” Monty says, surprised, “What’s going on with the rocket? How’s Raven doing? Kane mentioned seizures. What about the nightblood? Did Jackson and your mom figure out the chemical structure of it? And the hydrazine – we heard rumors about radiation trials, but...”

 

Clarke closes her eyes and rubs her palm against her forehead.

 

“Stop. Stop. It’s too much. One thing at a time,” she says. “First, has anyone heard anything from Bellamy?”

 

“Yeah, he got back this morning. We forgot to radio the news to you,” Monty’s retort comes fast.

 

“It wasn’t funny the first time, and it’s not funny now,” Clarke snaps, throwing him a dirty look.

 

“Chill, guys.” Jasper butts in. “If I didn’t let the black rain ruin my mood, I’m sure as hell not letting you two be a buzz kill.”

 

“It’s hard to be a buzz kill for a guy who welcomes the impending doom with open arms,” Monty says sarcastically.

 

“Seriously, Clarke. Why are you here? What’s going on on the island?” he presses, turning back to her.

 

She sighs and pulls up a chair to their table. Slowly, she explains everything that’s happened over the last week, down the grisly details about Murphy’s radiation trials.

 

“Sooo, basically we’re screwed is what you’re saying?” Jasper notes when she’s finished. “Not enough hydrazine to successfully launch the rocket. Raven’s having seizures. The nightblood didn’t fully protect Murphy from the radiation. Jackson can’t find the blueprints for how to make the original nightblood,” he ticks off the problems on his fingers. “Did I miss anything?”

 

“Sounds about right,” Clarke mutters darkly, pushing herself up straight in her chair. “So when’s the last time Bellamy checked in?”

 

“Umm, he radioed when he got to Polis, what, three days ago?” Jasper looks to Monty for confirmation.

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Monty replies, glancing swiftly at Clarke’s face. “We haven’t heard from him since.”

 

Clarke stares down into her cup, swishing the clear liquid around vigorously.

 

“But, we _did_ hear from Jaha,” Monty tries carefully. “Yesterday. He found another bunker from that Cadogan guy’s cult and told Kane. Kane sent him to Polis to tell Roan. Full disclosure is our new policy apparently,” he smiles a little.

 

Jasper snorts.

 

“Yeah, anything to avoid another war with Ice Nation. It’s not like the radiation menace is enough to stifle their bloodlust,” he says, acid dripping from his tone.

 

“So,” Monty cuts in pointedly at the look on Clarke’s face. “It’s very possible he’s with Jaha in Polis, totally safe.”

 

“Listen, I saw how deadly the radiation was for Murphy even after minimal exposure with nightblood protection. That’s why Bellamy going out into the elements after Octavia is the stupidest possible thing he could do right now,” she puts down her cup with a hard clink. “I need to take Helios and head out after him. I’ll go to Polis first. I just – I thought he’d be back by now!” she practically yells it in her frustration.

 

“He is back. I saw him walking up to the gates a minute ago,” a soft voice calls from behind them, bringing a wave of lavender scent with it.

 

Clarke freezes, turning slowly.

 

“Niylah! I-I I’m sorry. I should’ve come to say hello, I wasn’t thinking—”

 

Niylah smiles kindly and shakes her head.

 

“All is well, Clarke. No expectations, remember?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“I stayed until you came back, like you asked. But now that you’re back, I really should return to Trikru. We need to hunt for any more game we can find and prepare for the radiation. My people need me. So many of our men have been lost to Azgeda’s blade,” she says sadly.

 

Clarke’s already on her feet, squeezing both of Niylah’s forearms.

 

“I understand. Go. And thank you, for everything,” she says, looking into the eyes of her friend.

 

Niylah heads out one exit and Clarke sprints for the other. She runs through the gray Ark hallways, boots thudding loudly in her ears as she turns left, and then makes a sharp right, not slowing down at all until the crisp night air hits her smack in the face.

 

Jasper and Monty are left looking at each other confusedly.

 

“Women,” Jasper says, shaking his head.

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Monty affirms, and they clink their glasses together.

 

********

_He’s here. He’s alive. Bellamy._

She sees his tall form striding into camp purposefully as he nods at the guards on duty. He’s wearing his usual dark pants and zipped jacket, the white radiation suit poking out of a bag across his shoulder.

 

His eyes take in the camp in a sweeping motion before landing on the torch near the circular front door that’s shining on a familiar blonde head –

 

“Clarke!” he yells.

 

And she’s running. Racing. Sprinting. Flying straight for him.

 

He just has time to drop the bag to his side before she leaps into his arms at full speed, knocking him backward. She squeezes his shoulders, arms wrapped around his neck, grinning like an idiot.

 

She feels his warm hands curl around her waist, and grabs him tighter, breathing in the familiar sun-kissed scent of his skin.

 

“Bellamy! You’re back. You’re ok,” she repeats the last phrase several times until he swiftly presses his lips to the crown of her head.

 

She stills in his arms, drawing back to look into the brown warmth of his eyes. They’ve always been so solid, so comforting. They remind her of the best of Earth, the nurturing, rootedness of their planet before the nuclear wars.

 

“Clarke,” he smiles at her, and it’s like the sunrise, like the light of a passing meteor on the viewing deck in space, like the swell of a choir of birds in the woods around their home.

 

She grins back at him.

 

But then the color of his face goes chalky.

 

He’s dropping her to her feet – she didn’t even realize she was on her tiptoes – and staggering backward a few steps, putting his hand to his head.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she can’t keep the panic out of her voice.

 

“Nothing, I’m just . . . dizzy,” he offers before collapsing to his knees.

 

She falls into the muddy grass right beside him, in time to catch his head before it hits the ground.

 

“I need a stretcher! Get me a stretcher, NOW!” she screams at the nearby guards. They immediately spring into action, running toward the door of the Ark.

 

She pushes his damp curls back from his clammy face, running her hands over his chest and stomach, searching for any source of injury as his body begins to quietly tremor. She presses her fingers to the pulse point at his neck. His heart races as his eyes remain closed.

 

But then she sees it – along his right arm. Angry, plump red welt marks rise up there like a colony of erupting volcanoes against his bronze skin.

 

“Bellamy! Stay with me! The stretcher’s coming. I’m going to help you!” she whispers fervently against his temple. “You’re not dying. Do you hear me? I won’t lose you, too!”

 

********

“The good news is I don’t think he collapsed because of Acute Radiation Syndrome,” Abby says, her voice very controlled, over the radio Clarke holds up to her face like a talisman. “It sounds like dehydration to me. It was too long a walk, and he did it too quickly. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. So prepare the basic IV fluid drip for him then radio me back, and I’ll take you through treating him for radiation.”

 

Bellamy's lying on his back on the bed next to her. She rubs small circles into the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“Ok, Ok I will. Thank you,” Clarke replies.

 

She jumps into action, prepping him for a fluids IV and watching the teal-stained liquid disappear into the crook of his elbow.

 

“You’re going to be fine, Bellamy. Everything’s ok,” she croons to him before snatching the radio back up.

 

She turns the dial to Station 5.

 

“Ark to Becca’s Island. This is Clarke. Come in, Mom,” she pushes the words out as the knot in her stomach twists and tightens.

 

“I’m here, baby. Jackson and I have all the research in front of us.”

 

“From what you’re describing, Bellamy got a small dose of radiation poisoning. It’ll be treatable because of our space immunity. He’s lucky. He’s going to make it, Clarke.”

 

Clarke tries to steady her breathing, but as her eyes flick over his pale face, she feels sick.

 

“He doesn’t look ok,” she mumbles into the phone, throat welling with tears.

 

“Clarke. Focus. Did you give him the IV drip?” Abby demands.

 

“Yeah,” she replies, but it’s like a whisper.

 

“Can you tell what caused this?”

 

“Yeah, there was a rip in his hazmat suit. It looks like an arrow sliced through it. I think he tried to secure it with some duct tape, but I guess a few drops of rain got in anyway,” she attempts to keep the tremor out of her voice.

 

“Ok, then listen to me. He might present with gastrointestinal effects like nausea and vomiting. You’re going to give him the antibiotics Raven kept locked in the upper right cabinet of the storage room. They’re clearly labeled for radiation poisoning. Also, I want you to take the orange spray bottle Jackson left beside the pills too and completely cover the affected skin with fluid, just like we did with Murphy. That should reduce the outer damage dramatically. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Clarke says, watching Bellamy’s purple-hued eyelids flutter slightly.

 

“Good. Now I don’t think there will be cellular degradation due to DNA or tissue damage. But to be on the safe side, after you give him the pill and spray down his skin, you’re going to let the IV drip run completely. Then immediately switch over to a blood transfusion. Half of one bag of Luna’s blood should be enough to counteract the black rain’s effects.”

 

“Understood,” Clarke replies.

 

“Ok. Before you get to work, there’s one more thing, Clarke,” this time Jackson’s voice floods the airwaves. “The pill might affect his short-term memory. Don’t panic, it won’t be significant. But I did more reading after we gave it to Adria because she already ate the radiated fish at that point. The pills work best as preventative measures. But if you take them after the radiation hits you, there might be a bit of confusion and foggy memories, at least for a day or so because of the neurological effects. So if Bellamy seems confused at all, it’s ok. It’s to be expected.”

 

“Right,” Clarke takes another deep breath.

 

“Good luck, baby! I know you can do this,” Abby calls out. “Call us back when he’s stable.”

********

He squints his eyes against the harsh, florescent lights as he comes to in his hospital bed. The attempt to sit up is foiled by the fact that his left arm is connected to an IV bag.

 

The blonde hair looks like Clarke’s but it can’t be, she’s at Becca’s lab, he took her there himself, he – _Well, maybe it is her. Or maybe he’s dreaming. He feels too warm and comfortable for this to be real. And there’s the sweet scent of vanilla in the air._

 

“Clarke...” he tries to say her name but it comes out like a croak. “What is—”

 

The blonde whirls around, face alight.

 

“Bellamy!” she rushes over to him. “You stay right there and lay back and relax. You need to finish the fluid drip, and then I’m going to treat you for the radiation. It was black rain, right?” she looks worriedly into his face, her eyes searching his.

 

“Yeah. Trikru attacked me coming back. Roan’s protection doesn’t count for much these days,” he comments, contorting his face a little and rubbing his hand across his stomach.

 

“Are you in pain? I didn’t see another injury beside your arm,” Clarke says quickly.

 

“No, I feel . . . queasy I guess?” he supplies.

 

“All right, that’s ok,” she absentmindedly rubs his hard stomach a few times before his questioning expression freezes her hand in mid-air. She pulls it back as if burned.

 

A fraction of a smirk darts across his face. 

 

“My mom said that’s to be expected,” she jumps up and retreats into the storage room. There she begins rummaging around the cabinets, pulling things down at random and clanking doors shut hard in her haste.

 

Finding the pill and spray bottles at last, she steps back into the medical area. She glances down at his arm before nodding, seemingly to herself.

 

“Ok, this will be cold, but just be still,” and she aggressively pulls back the trigger of the bottle as a flume of spray covers the red boils along his arm.

 

“Uggh,” he grits his teeth.

 

“Sorry!” she says, grimacing.

 

But they’re both relieved to see the ragged bumps become smaller and paler within a minute.

 

“Now,” she drops the bottle on the bedside table and reaches for a cup of water there, “swallow this down for me,” her palm extends flat to him with a small white pill balancing in the center. He takes it from her, and it’s like a minor bolt of electricity flies up her arm when his fingers brush her skin. “And then, as soon as this drip is done, I’m giving you half a bag of Luna’s nightblood as a transfusion, just to be sure. We’re not taking any chances.” She tries to keep her voice as cheerful as possible.

 

“Clarke--that’s ridiculous. It’s a waste of resources –”

 

“It is _not!”_ her eyes are swimming with tears, and her voice breaks as she says it. “It is not. I won’t lose you to this. If I’m on that list, so are you, remember?”

 

He pinches his lips together and nods carefully at her. She can see whole worlds soaring by in his eyes as he thinks.

 

“Drink and swallow. No arguing,” she says sternly to him.

 

He does, and then she surprises him by sitting at the edge of his bed quietly as the final ounces of fluid flow into his arm. She removes the tubes easily, covering the vein opening with gauze and a Band-Aid. Her fingers feel like gentle butterfly wings where they touch his skin.

 

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed easily enough.

 

As she turns to go, he grabs her wrist suddenly. His grasp is firm, and she hears her breath hitch. She wonders if he heard it, too.

 

“Clarke,” his eyes seek out her own as she stands there between his knees, loose blonde hair falling into her face.

 

“I promised you’d see me again, and you did,” she whispers weakly.

 

“You’re nothing if not stubborn,” he grins at her.

 

His eyes remain locked on her face as she nods a little. She watches him swallow hard, noticing how his Adam’s apple gets pushed out prominently.

 

“At the river, I was going to finally answer your question,” he says.

 

“What do you mean? What question?” her forehead wrinkles in confusion.

 

“You remember the night when we sent up the flares to tell the Ark we were safe, that they could come down, too?” he asks, his voice is regaining its rich sound.

 

She sees the pain pass over his features and knows he’s remembering the radio he destroyed.

 

“You didn’t know, Bellamy. The culling wasn’t your fault. You didn’t decide to do it. You did what you could to prevent it,” she hastily intervenes, allowing one of her hands to trail lightly across his shoulder.

 

“No,” he shakes his head, “That’s not it.”

 

He stands up, and she didn’t realize how close she was standing to him. He looms over her, but she doesn’t back up. She feels pulled toward him, magnetized. She waits silently.

 

“You asked me if you could wish on that type of shooting star, and I told you I wouldn’t know what to wish for.”

 

“I remember,” she didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she lets it out. He seems so close she can almost count the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.

 

“That’s not true anymore. If I saw one today, I know what I’d wish for.”

 

“Yeah?” her voice trembles. “What’s that?”

 

His hands slide into hers, their bodies just inches apart now.

 

“To survive this _with you_.”

 

“Good,” she sighs. “Because that’s what I’d wish for, too.”

 

The smile brings out his dimples and stretches straight into his eyes. He pulls her into him gently at the waist, but she lets out a surprised little “Oh!” as their bodies touch nonetheless.

 

“Come here, Clarke,” he murmurs against her ear.

 

His fingers slide over the goose bumps that pop up suddenly against her pale skin.

 

“Do I make you nervous, Princess? After all this time?”

 

She gazes up into his face, and her eyes flick down to his full lips. She lets her hands land on the chest she can now finally touch. His heart rate speeds up under her fingers.

 

“No more nervous than I make you,” she says cheekily.

 

“I can live with that,” he replies.

 

And when his lips meet hers, she feels rather than sees those pink flares erupt in her chest, spreading warmth throughout her body.

 

Her arms curl around his neck, hands sliding into his mop of curls. He presses her more urgently into the length of his body, coaxing her mouth open under his with the tip of his tongue. She opens it without thought, reveling in the taste of him.

 

His hand cradles her face lightly before tracing down the column of her neck to her collarbone. He releases her lips only to begin sucking at the pulse point of her neck, causing her to throw her head back and grip his shoulders harder.

 

"Bellamy..." she huffs.

 

When she can, she kisses him feverishly, running her hands up under his olive-colored shirt and along the hard planes of his abs.

 

Suddenly, he’s moving backward, knocking up against the hospital bed. He pulls her eagerly into his lap as she giggles, sliding his own hands up along her sides as his lips capture hers once more.

 

Sometime many moments, weeks, or golden centuries later - he’s lost track of time - he tucks several strands of light hair behind her ear. He’s watching her reverently as though she is a very expensive and well-known painting worth saving for future generations.

 

The rose-pink rises into her cheeks as she blinks at him.

 

“What is it, Bellamy?” she questions, pressing her mouth to his jawline before drawing back.

 

“So this is how we end?” he breathes, gazing into her sparkling eyes that always reminded him of what an ocean might look like.

 

“No, definitely not!” she grins at him with pure adoration, cheeks morphing into perfect round circles as her dimples emerge.

 

“This is how we begin. This is how we survive.”

 

He nods slowly, lightly rubbing the skin of her back beneath her top.

 

“Ok, Princess,” he agrees. "Together."


	4. Ego Speravi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy share with each other what happened while they were apart. And then nothing is bigger than Bellarke.

 

_"What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?_

_And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up, and you're ok?_

_I'm falling to pieces, yeah_

_I'm falling to pieces._

_They say bad things happen for a reason,_

_But no wises words gonna stop the bleeding._

_'Cause she's moved on while I'm still grieving,_

_And when a heart breaks, no it don't break even."_

_~The Script, "Breakeven"_

The blood transfusion is successful. But Clarke refuses to leave Bellamy’s bedside overnight. Instead, she stretches out on the cot next to him, watching his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm as the minutes turn to hours.

 

“Clarke?” Kane’s voice pulls her from the peaceful tidal pool of sleep lapping at the edges of her consciousness.

 

“Yeah?” she blinks up at him hazily.

 

He throws a soft, tattered brown blanket over her frame and smiles down at her.

 

“Looks like you’ve been busy since you got back. How’s he doing?” he nods at Bellamy.

 

“He’s perfect,” she smiles back at him. “He’s going to make a full recovery.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Kane says before walking back to the door. “Good night, Clarke.”

 

“Good night.”

 

Bellamy looks more relaxed in sleep than she’s seen him in a long time. She rises quietly, and pads the few feet over to him. His dark freckles jump out against his skin more than usual. She just dusts the tips of her fingers across the top of his hand as she leans in and kisses his hairline lightly.

 

“Mmmm,” he groans a little, shifting onto his side. “O. No, O.” He grimaces in his sleep, drawing backward, moving his hands upward toward a few lingering scars on his face as if to shield himself. “Please, don’t. Stop. Please.”

 

Clarke feels her heart tear cleanly into fragmented pieces.

 

********

 

“I don’t need to stay here all afternoon, Clarke,” he argues for the third time the next day. “I should be helping mend the Ark or at least hunting.”

 

Fortunately, sunlight beams through the rectangular cutouts along the wall. The threat of black rain won’t find them today.

 

“Yes you do,” she answers pointedly, dropping a lunch tray onto his cot. “I want to monitor your vitals _just to be sure_ the transfusion went well.”

 

“Hmph,” he grumbles, picking up an apple and biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

 

Clarke sits down on the cot across from him, curling her legs under her. A weird energy buzzes between them, like a force field pressuring her to keep her distance. His deep eyes watch her carefully from beneath his black bangs.

 

“You haven’t told me why you came back from Becca’s lab,” he offers after a few awkward seconds.

 

She narrows her eyes at him.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah. Of course I’m serious.”

 

“I came back because Kane told my mom you were MIA . . . _in the black rain_ ,” she’s looking at him like he’s grown another head.

 

“But . . . the nightblood mission. Your mom. Luna. It’s so much more important,” he seems genuinely confused. Then it’s as if a fresh memory crashes into him like an ocean wave. “The lost hydrazine.” His eyes grow wider. “What’s going on with the space plan? Is it salvageable?” he asks in a rush.

 

“No,” Clarke admits, running her fingers aimlessly up and down the folded brown blanket. “We gave the nightblood to Murphy instead. He agreed to test its effectiveness under radiation conditions.”

 

He shakes his head rapidly as if repelling water from his hair.

 

“Wait. You did _WHAT?”_

She cowers under his glare.

“We were desperate! It seemed like the last option. And . . . he volunteered,” Clarke pleas, leaning toward him, but he tilts his body away from her. Whether or not it’s conscious, she doesn’t know. She shrinks back as if burned nonetheless, tears forming in her eyes. “I wanted to volunteer myself instead – I tried! But Jackson said he’d encountered a lot more radiation than me in the desert with Jaha,” she feels the wetness slipping down her cheeks. “I know it was a horrible thing to do, Bellamy! We pulled him out as soon as he was in pain – Raven insisted on it!” she finishes forcefully.

 

When he meets her eyes again, he’s looking at her with a mixture of fear and nausea.

 

“I know it sounds horrible, unimaginable . . . ” she whispers into the silence. “I swear, if there were any other option I—”

 

“I know,” he sighs heavily. “I know.”

 

He looks at her for a long moment. But then -

 

“So if it didn’t work . . . what now?” he asks, the question hanging in the hair like dead weight between them.

 

“My mom says we can use Luna’s bone marrow. Test it again under radiation conditions,” she answers quietly.

 

Disgust rises into his face once more before he can fully disguise it.

 

“It won’t be painful at all for her!” Clarke intercedes, quickly tapping her hand against the cot’s metal footboard for emphasis. “She was discussing it with my mom before I left.”

 

“For _her_ . . . ” Bellamy repeats warily, casting the apple core aside completely. “Clarke, don’t tell me you all were actually thinking about exposing someone else to radiation! That’s sick! It’s like Mount Weather all over again.”

 

Clarke purses her lips and stares away out the window.

 

“I don’t think we have another choice,” she says quietly. “I wish we did.”

 

His face softens a little as he sits still. She chances a glance at him when she hears his rumbling voice again.

 

“Who we are and who we have to be to survive are still two different things, huh?”

 

Her lip quivers, and she can feel the salty tears sliding down her cheeks.

 

Bellamy reaches out tentatively before placing a hand over her knee. Her shudders lessen as she places one of her own hands on top of his.

 

“I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you,” he says, looking into her eyes.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t have to see Murphy that way – or what we’d become,” she whispers.

 

His jaw clenches.

 

“Don’t do that. Don’t make it sound like you’re the only one who’s done things you’re not proud of, that you’re not still paying for.”

 

He stands up and brings her back a tissue, which she gratefully accepts.

 

“Bellamy . . . what happened to Lincoln is not your fault! Octavia loves you. She will heal from this.”

 

“Maybe sooner than you’d think,” he mutters darkly.

 

“What?” she asks, confused.

 

But he ignores her, brushing the question away with a wave of his hand.

 

“Who gets tested now with Luna’s bone marrow?” he asks grimly, redirecting her attention.

 

“We hadn’t decided before I left. But . . . there’s something I didn’t fully explain . . . ”

 

“A _home invasion,_ Clarke!” he bellows when she finishes relaying the story of the man who smashed the glass window at Becca’s mansion. Who viciously attacked Emori in the gleaming kitchen still smelling of risotto. “From the grounder who beat Emori as a child! Why the hell am I just hearing this _now_? Does Kane know? How long have you been keeping him locked up? When did this even happen?” He’s livid as he towers above her, flexing his fingers until they crack.

 

“Bellamy, I didn’t even know if _you_ were alive. Please!” she tries to reason with him. “Everything’s under control. Miller and the rest of the guard are keeping watch over him. My mom and Jackson were making preparations to start the experiment when I left. I’m sure they’ll make a final decision today. This happened . . . ” she rubs at her forehead, squinting her eyes shut, “The night before last I guess. I’d just decided to come back for you, and then we heard the glass breaking . . . And yes, Kane knows. He trusts my mother to make the right decision. But I couldn’t even reach you! You were out looking for . . . ”

 

“Octavia,” he finishes for her.

 

“You were talking about her last night in your sleep,” Clarke says hesitantly. “Did you find her?”

 

“More or less,” he replies shortly. “She passed through Polis on horseback on her way to Trishanakru . . . with Ilian. They seem to be on _much_ better terms than before,” he spits out the words like he’s personally insulted by them.

 

Clarke’s eyes lock on his in shock.

 

“ _What?”_

“My reaction exactly,” he supplies, bitter. “But it’s not like I know the full story. It’s not like she talks to me.”

 

Clarke offers him a sympathetic look.

 

“By the time I got there, rumor was Broadleaf and Trikru and a few of the other clans were ready to march on the capitol. To ‘torch the tower until it fell in a heap of ash like their sorry excuse for an imposter king,’ I believe were the exact words Indra translated for me,” he says with a flourish, sweeping out his arms out for effect as he begins pacing back and forth between the beds.

 

“My God,” Clarke’s hand covers her mouth. “What did Roan do?”

 

“You know his majesty never misses a chance to show off,” comes the sarcastic retort.

 

“ _Bellamy . . ._ ”

 

He scoffs.

 

“He and Indra spent all their time trying to reason with the coalition. She called in Kane for backup. And, interestingly enough, he arrived at nearly the exact same time Jaha did.”

 

“Right!” Clarke’s sky blue eyes suddenly light up. “I forgot! The Second Dawn mission!”

 

“Very good,” he nods.

 

“Jaha somehow managed to get to Polis just in time to avert the next war by telling Roan about the Second Dawn bunker he found for the 12th level members.”

 

Clarke is watching him so closely, holding her breath.

 

“I’m not sure I understand . . . ”

 

“Oh, right. Kane decided honesty is the best policy now with our grounder friends,” he smirks at her.

 

“So, Roan told his people—”

 

“About the death wave. You got it. Everyone’s now fully aware that the radiation is coming to burn us to a crisp in under a month. Let’s just say that changed the political atmosphere considerably.”

 

“Tell me about the bunker!” Clarke demands.

 

“It has room for 3,000 people. Enough to save about 60 percent of everyone left.”

 

She smiles weakly at him, and he smiles back. It’s the best solution they’ve had in a while.

 

“So what did Roan say?”

 

“Said he believes in meritocracy,” Bellamy answers, arching his eyebrows.

 

“Meaning?”

 

“He’s going to host some grounder version of a Gladiator-style fight for the spots. Only the strongest survive.”

 

“What?” Clarke jumps to her feet. “That’s the most barbaric—”

 

“Sit down, princess. It gets better,” Bellamy says calmly.

 

She sinks back onto the cot, feeling her knees weaken.

 

“Since Sky Crew is the 13th clan now, we’re going to be represented in the arena. Clans win more seats in the bunker depending on how far they advance through the rounds.”

 

“Roan has time to host a fight-to-the-death spectacle when the radiation is about to wipe us all off the Earth?” Clarke demands, enraged.

 

“No, no. It’s not a fight to the death. Just fight until you need to forfeit,” Bellamy returns.

 

“Why are you so ok with all this?” Clarke barks. “Tell me you did _not_ sign up to be Sky Crew’s champion, Bellamy, or so help me, I will kill you myself!”

 

“Didn’t have to,” Bellamy shrugs. “Octavia did.”

 

Clarke gaps at him like a fish floundering alone on a dock.

 

“And you’re ok with that?”

 

“Kane is. He agreed to the battles and said he’d be home right after me. The way I see it is if this is what Octavia needs to do before she can come back to her people, then yeah. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he replies. “We’ll all be there to see her fight if this idiocy pans out.”

 

She nods at him slowly, still shaking her head in awe.

 

“Just when you thought you’d heard everything,” she sighs.

 

********

Bellamy sleeps a few more hours that afternoon.

 

When he wakes, Clarke’s so deeply immersed in jotting down her impressions of the transfusion in a spiral-bound notebook, she doesn’t hear him approach from behind.

 

“Can I go now, Clarke?” his voice sends a shiver down her spine.

 

As she turns, she realizes he’s close. Very close. Too close. The tangy woods scent clinging to his skin is intoxicating.

 

“Yeah, ok,” she relents, looking back down at the desk full of notes and a haphazard array of medical supplies. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

 

They move through the quiet silver halls of Arkadia in companionable silence, but Clarke feels her heart rate begin to jump as they draw closer to his wing of the ship. She realizes – and it shocks her – she’s never actually seen his room. He’s been inside the Chancellor’s quarters with her, even napped there, but she has no idea exactly where he’s slept since the Ark came down. She knows the general direction though and tries to walk purposefully. When they come to a fork in the hallway, she hesitates, allowing him to step in front of her.

 

“Left,” he glances down at her. There’s a teasing glint in his eye.

 

Or maybe she just imagines it.

 

His door still has its old-fashioned placard on it. _Blake_ it says in a scrawling, looping script she realizes must have flowed from his mother’s hand.

 

She bites her lip and stands a few steps away from him as he unlocks the heavy door with his thumbprint.

 

With his fingers wrapped around the handle of the partially opened door, he glances back at her. From her angle, she can see it’s a small space. There’s a single bed, neatly made with a plain blue comforter. There’s also a simple wooden nightstand with a few books piled on top and most likely a desk and stack of drawers built into the wall in the area she can’t see.

 

“Clarke, what is it?” he’s looking at her strangely.

 

She can’t believe she blurts the sentence out of her mouth. After so many months of such careful restraint, it’s all shot to hell in the span of a moment.

 

“Why are you acting like it didn’t happen? Do you regret it?” her tone is harder than she wanted it to be.

 

“Acting like what didn’t happen?” his brow furrows.

 

His words deflate her. She feels her shoulders hunch.

 

“Nothing, whatever, it’s ok,” she shrugs and turns to go.

 

“Wait! Clarke?”

 

She swirls rather gracefully like a ballet dancer despite her thick boots and gathering queasiness.

 

“Yeah?” she hears the word come out squeaky and high-pitched.

 

“Uhh, thanks for everything. For saving me. I don’t know if it was worth all the medical resources with the death wave coming, but thank you.” His right hand is still on the door handle, but he’s turned himself to face her openly. In that moment, he resembles a little boy, sweet and hesitant, a half-smile ghosting over his lips.

 

“Bellamy!” she cries out, although her heart is coming unglued from its safe space behind her ribcage and fracturing like shards of glass. “Don’t you know by now that to me you’ll always be worth the resources!”

 

She starts to shake uncontrollably, and she slaps her hand into the opposite wall, turning toward it to hide her face as the embarrassment and confusion and hurt wash over her. It takes her a moment to collect herself. Her hand leaves a glistening imprint behind as she lets it drop to her side. But then she adopts the frame of mind that says the smart thing to do is scurry down the hall as far away from here as possible. But before she’s taken three steps, his arms are solidly around her, and he’s pulling her into the broad expanse of his chest.

 

“Shhh,” he whispers into her golden hair as it tickles his nose. “It’s all going to be ok, Clarke. It’s going to be ok.”

 

When he pulls back to look down at her, she allows herself one peek up into his face. It’s full of such care and concern she wants to shake him. He takes a step back from her as though it costs him a great deal, and she realizes he’s never initiated any of their hugs before. No, that’s always been her.

 

 _It’s always been me, except for last night_ , she realizes.

 

He sees something crystallize in her eyes, the fierce look blaze across her features. But he doesn’t expect her to launch herself at him full-force, seeking out his lips with her own.

 

He’s knocked a few steps backward into his room in surprise. But he kisses her back. And emboldened by this, she kicks his door shut with her foot. She only breaks the kiss for a moment, pushing both hands against his chest – hard – until he’s left stumbling onto his bed.

 

She straddles his lap, drawing one of his large hands to the curve of her waist and the other to the space just an inch below the underwire of her bra cup.

 

His hand spans warmly across her lower back, roaming of its own accord as he slides his tongue into her mouth, vying with hers for dominance. Not that he’s surprised. He knew – well, he imagined – it’d be this way with her.

 

But when her hot, wet mouth begins kissing down his jawline and she turns and presses her upper body into his hand, allowing it to almost completely cup her breast, he draws back.

 

“Woah! Woah. Clarke. What – are – you – doing?” he pants.

 

All her motions cease instantly.

 

Her hands touch her swollen lips, and her face is on fire, akin to flamingo pink. She just blinks at him, mouth partially open, and immediately begins shifting away.

 

“No. Stay,” his voice is strong and domineering, a touch of the dropship arrogance embedded in it somehow. “And tell me – because I must have missed _something_ . . . important _?”_ He stills and steadies her hips with his hands and pulls her closer to him.

 

She’s searching his face, trying to determine if he’s screwing with her. She takes in the constellation of freckles across his straight nose. His eyes look earnest enough. But he’s her best friend, what else would they look like?

 

“You don’t want this,” the words come out broken, as she tries to shift away again.

 

His fingers dig deeper into her sides as he brings her nearer still. She gasps involuntarily when she feels him hardening against her thigh.

 

“I wouldn’t say that, Princess,” he teases in a husky voice she's never heard. “I’m just . . . confused.”

 

Confused.

 

 _Confused_.

 

 ** _Confused_**.

 

And then Jackson’s words plunk down into her brain.

 

_The pill might affect his short-term memory._

“You don’t remember?” she breathes after a few seconds, smiling a little and wrapping one of her hands around the nape of his neck to curl a wayward lock around her finger.

 

He reaches behind him and catches her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the pads of each finger in turn. She shudders deliciously. Her blush deepens to a ripe tomato color. She casts her eyes down. But he slips two fingers under her chin and forces her gaze up to meet his.

 

“I don’t remember _what_?” he demands.

 


	5. Amavi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellarke have a lot of feelings to talk through - and act on.

_“I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart,_

_But you came around, and you knocked me off the ground from the start . . ._

_. . . How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around?_

_I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown._

_I hope that you see right through my walls_

_I hope that you catch me 'cause I'm already falling._

_I'll never let our love get so close_

_You put your arms around me, and I'm home._

_The world is coming down on me, and I can't find a reason to be loved_

_I never wanna leave you, but I can't make you bleed if I'm alone._

_You put your arms around me,_

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go..._

_. . . I try my best to never let you in to see the truth_

_And I've never opened up_

_I've never truly loved till you put your arms around me."_

_~Christina Perri, “Arms”_

 

She drops her forehead to his heated shoulder, and he can feel her smile against the thin fabric. Without thinking, he kisses the top of her head quickly and feels her relax into him. Comforting arms snake around his body, and she sighs.

 

“The anti-radiation pill I gave you. Jackson warned me you might have some short term memory loss after taking it,” she says into his T-shirt.

“What? What does that mean?” comes his startled, strangled reply.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s all right,” she hushes him soothingly, squeezing him once around his back before sitting up and looking into his face. She’s smiling as she reaches out to push the dark edges of his bangs out of his eyes. “Your memories will come back in a few days. But . . . what _can_ you remember?”

 

His hands slip unconsciously to her thighs, and he slides his palms against the tops of them like it’s a normal thing. Like he touches her like this all the time. She feels herself clench at the touch, a tingle of heat shoots straight up through her stomach. The movement makes her desperately want to grind into his lap and latch her mouth to his again, but she restrains herself.

 

“I remember seeing you at the gate. . .and then collapsing. That’s what happened, right? I remember seeing the ground getting closer.”

 

He shakes his head as if trying to fight off the cobwebs in the Second Dawn bunker.

 

“You gave me a pill and sprayed my arm. And . . . ”

 

Her expression is so earnest as she nods her head along encouragingly. He wants to pinpoint the memory, whatever it is that she’s urging him toward. But there’s nothing there. Nothing else from last night, at least.

 

“I remember you taking out the needle after the transfusion. We talked about Octavia and the competition for spots in the bunker, right?”

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Clarke’s voice is brighter than usual. Sweeter.

 

She accidently brushes up against the side of his hand as she uses it like a musical baton, trying to pull words out of his mind that don’t exist, and jerks it away on contact. But he catches her much softer hand in his calloused one and spins patterns into her palm with his thumb.

 

“Tell me, what else is there?” His voice is low and insistent and triggers something primal in her. She shifts in his lap, casting her blue eyes toward the lone oval window connecting this space to the outside world.

 

“That’s it? Are you sure?” Clarke presses, glancing back at him.

 

The black of his pupils seems to have swallowed the warmth of his eyes entirely.

 

“Yeah. Aren’t those the highlights?” His breath tickles her neck, and her fingers grip into his bed sheets in an involuntary response.

 

“Not even close,” she admits after several long seconds where she distinctly feels the force of his gaze on her cheek.

 

“Ok . . . what else happened?” The hesitancy creeps back into his voice, crowding out the hope. “I mean, something had to happen to make this—” he suddenly pops his knees up, sending her jolting off his lap slightly—“possible.”

 

She smiles at the levity. And then taking a deep breath, she leans forward, crushes a kiss to his stubbly cheek, _Has she ever seen him grow facial hair?,_ and starts talking, words tumbling out over each other.

 

“Right after you took the pill, you asked me if I remembered us sending flares into the sky to stop the Culling . . . ” She lets her voice fade, watching him carefully.

 

He runs a hand through his hair, getting it tangled.

 

“I remember the flares obviously, Clarke. But I don’t remember us talking about them recently.”

 

She nods a little, squeezing his bicep softly and rubbing along his arm soothingly.

 

“Ok. Well, last fall, at the dropship, I asked you if you could wish on that type of shooting star, and said you wouldn’t even know what to wish for.”

 

“Sounds about right,” he says shortly.

 

Clarke bites her lip so hard she tastes a drop of tangy, rust-flavored blood fill her mouth. The pain is already clouding into his eyes like an impending rainstorm, and she wants nothing more than to make it disappear. She hurries on.

 

“Anyway, yesterday you said if you ever saw a real shooting star, you’d know what to wish for this time.”

 

“Which was?”

 

She glances down at his tan hand wrapped around her ivory one, and it gives her the courage to continue.

 

“To survive _with me._ You said you wanted to survive with me. And –” It’s like delicate pink flowers unfurl across her smooth skin as blood rushes to her face. “Then you kissed me.”

 

He lets out a low hiss, smirking and hanging his head.

 

“I did not! You’re lying, Princess. You would’ve slapped me for trying." 

 

“I'm not lying! Why would I stop you?” Indignation sparks in her voice.

 

“You’re telling me I can’t remember our much-anticipated first kiss?” He stretches out his fingers wide and creates a cradle for the small of her back to lean into as she drags her calves fully around his hipbones, bringing them closer together.

 

She scoffs.

 

“You say that like you always planned on it happening.”

 

He looks up and flashes his eyebrows at her, letting his thumb play with the silky skin of her stomach under her light blue, tattered top. She’s breathing heavier in her annoyance and desire. It’s making the swell of her breasts rise and fall prominently.

 

“Not planned as much as... _fantasized._ But I think some of our friends were taking bets on it actually . . . I heard them talking about it at the bar one night.”

 

“Ugh!” she grunts. “What am I even supposed to do with _that_!”

 

“Let me show you.”

 

He slides his hands up her front and feels a shudder run through her. His fingers fall on the top button of her shirt, and he pops it open easily, letting his fingers dip inside to skim across the worn cotton material of her bra.

 

Her eyes follow his pink, pointed tongue, which sneaks out of the corner of his mouth in his concentration. But he never looks back at her. His entire attention focuses on popping open another button and twirling labyrinthine patterns into the fabric of her bra. When he passes over her nipple he hears her suck in air and smirks. She clutches the front of his shirt in her fist and grinds down into his lap.

 

“I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of proud of myself. Who would’ve thought a cheesy line would win over the Princess?”

 

His warm breath tickles her collarbone and gives rise to a wave of goose bumps across her arms. She shoves his shoulder playfully then groans as he flicks at her nipple once more, harder this time, in retaliation.

 

“It was sweet! You meant it,” she insists. “Don’t mock like the one romantic thing you’ve ever said to me!”

 

He starts laughing outright now, a deep and booming sound that fills up the small room and seeps into her bones.

 

“Shut up!” she cries, half laughing, half angry that he’s making her laugh.

 

“Make me.”

 

And, never one to back down from a threat or invitation, Clarke lunges forward and crushes his lips against her own until she’s gasping for air for entirely different reasons.

 

A few minutes later, he has her pinned under him on his bed, one leg wrapped lazily around his waist as he sucks insistently at her neck. Her fingers curl into his hair, getting caught in the tangles there. A light sheen of sweat cloaks her body, making it easier for him to slip his fingers down, across the planes of her stomach, lower to her clit, which he teases mercilessly until she gasps his name over and over.

 

When he presses a long, thick finger into her, she arches her back and actually pants as her flesh gives a little bit around him.

 

“You’re beautiful, Princess. So. Goddamn. Gorgeous,” he grunts before attaching his lips to her breast and pushing the capacity for rational thought off the table entirely.

 

She pulls him toward her by the back of his neck and kisses him hungrily, reveling in the taste of him, sweet and yet spicy, too. Her hands dance across his hardened abs, but then his second finger enters her and she stutters out his name, digging her nails into his shoulders, leaving marks.

 

“Easy, Princess. Relax. You can take it,” he hums.

 

He brings her to the brink of release then stops, pulling out his fingers, leaving her empty, aching, hollow. In retaliation, she reaches down and takes him, heavy and hard yet soft like velvet, in her hand. Gripping him confidently, she slides up and down his length repeatedly, until he’s the one sputtering.

 

“Damn it, Clarke! Yes. There. That’s it. That’s—Uuggh,” he moans as she presses into the sensitive area under his shaft.

 

She smiles tantalizingly up at him from under half-lidded eyes.

 

“Is that good, Bellamy?” she asks sweetly.

 

“You know it is,” he hisses, before pushing her hand away, and rearing up and biting down on her bottom lip, forcing her mouth open with an insistent tongue.

 

She drinks him in and mewls when his thumb rubs up against her engorged clit, once more, more insistent this time. Her calves shake, and small sparks of light pop before her eyes as he runs the edge of his thumb nail across her, kissing down her neck and leaving light bite marks on her shoulder.

 

“Ah! Bellamy!” she pulls him closer as she careens over the edge, desperate to drown in him.

 

********

"You sure? You want this? With me?” he looks at her, his defenses shot through as he hovers above her, dying to plunge into her warm heat but terrified she’ll regret it as soon as he’s begun.

 

She sighs, cradling his cheek with her hand, thumb tracing over the light scars there.

 

“Only you. Always you,” she whispers into the charged air around them.

 

He pushes into her carefully, delicately, more gentle now as he peppers soft kisses across her lips and cheeks, allowing her to adjust to his girth.

 

She rolls her hips once against him, then twice, moaning a little. But then she spurs him onward with a quick jab of the balls of her feet into his ass.

 

“Just do it, Bellamy!” she huffs. “I need you to fuck me!” It’s almost a growl.

 

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

********

The glittering gray bruise mark in the shape of his fingers against her hipbone causes her to smile when she leans over and examines it.

 

He follows the direction of her gaze, and his gasp is audible.

 

“Clarke,” her name always catches in his throat. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” He just barely skims the bruise with his own fingers, looking into her eyes, horrified.

 

“No, Bellamy. I’m ok. You were perfect. You _are_ perfect,” she breathes back.

 

He’s shaking his head though, pulling away and sitting up. The sheets pool around his waist, and he digs his elbows into his knees, resting his chin against his cupped hands.

 

“I was too rough. You should have said something. I shouldn’t have touched you!” the violent desperation in his voice scares her.

 

“Hey! Hey! Bellamy look at me!” she insists, sitting up and yanking his left arm away from his chin, exposing his face. His eyes are closed. So she tries scooting closer to him, wrapping his arms around his waist, kissing his temple.

 

“Please, Clarke. Don’t make it ok.”

 

“What are you talking about? I was _perfectly happy_ two seconds ago. Everything _is_ ok. You didn’t hurt me!”

 

His groan catches somewhere in his chest.

 

“Bellamy...” she pleads against the warmth of his bicep. He smells like the Earth and brown sugar, all rolled together. “I swear it doesn’t hurt! You didn’t even mean it, but I like that you wanted to hold me tighter. So can you just let me have this one night . . . please?”

 

He finally turns to her and offers the ghost of a smile.

 

“I thought you never liked the alpha male thing,” he says.

 

“It guess it depends who’s doing it,” she admits after a few seconds, the blush rising up to her face once more.

 

He pulls her into his side, whispers “I’m sorry,” again, and wraps the blankets around her, telling her to try to get some sleep. She lays a hand across his chest, feeling it rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

 

“Clarke?” he calls into the darkness after a few minutes of silence.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I want you to know something.”

 

“Ok.”

 

When I got on the dropship for Octavia, she was the only person I cared about in the world. She’d always been the most important person in my life.”

 

“I know that, Bellamy. She’s your family, your blood,” Clarke responds. “I really believe she’ll come around.”

 

“Yeah, but I never thought I’d care about anyone else as much as I cared about O,” his voice drops in his hesitancy.

 

She feels the tears prickling behind her eyes despite her best efforts to suppress them. She blinks to clear the blurriness of her vision. He pulls back a bit and peers into her eyes. She rubs his arm comfortingly.

 

“After I met you, I wasn’t so sure,” he admits.

 

“Are you saying I grew on you?” she attempts to keep her tone light, but he catches one of her perfectly round teardrops on the pad of his thumb. She’s close enough to see the lines in his fingerprint.

 

“Come on, Princess. You must have known for a long time.”

 

“Well, when you stopped acting like such an ass all the time, I remember wondering what influenced you . . . ” she tries to joke.

 

“ _Clarke –_ ” his voice breaks, and her own chest constricts painfully.

 

“I knew,” she admits quietly. “I knew in that cave with Roan. But by then, I’d already loved you for months.”

 

He shakes his head and squints his eyes closed.

 

“What?” She hears a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

 

“I just couldn’t say anything, Bell! The Grounders would’ve used it against us. ALIE tried to!” she pleads, willing his eyes to meet hers. “But it’s true.”

 

“Ok,” he says slowly. “Ok.”

 

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her to him, rubbing the curve of her waist.

 

“I love you. No matter what comes next,” she breathes out the words as if they’re a prayer. Her whole body feels lighter when she does.

 

His grin is like daybreak rising up over the mountains, awe-inspiring and real. His kiss is deep, protective, possessive as he climbs back on top of her. She hooks her hands underneath the curve of his elbows and tries to pull him closer to her.

 

“I want to feel your body on mine. I want your weight,” she huffs into his ear.

 

“It’s too much weight,” he immediately protests. "I'm too heavy." 

 

“You could never be,” she tries again. “You’d never hurt me,” she looks up at him, pushing a few errant curls out of his face and smiling.


End file.
